


The Five times Tim and Lucy almost kiss and the one time they do.

by Motherof4dragons



Series: The Chenford Files [2]
Category: The Rookie (TV 2018)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23202658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Motherof4dragons/pseuds/Motherof4dragons
Summary: The five times Tim and Lucy almost kiss and the one time they finally do.
Relationships: Tim Bradford & Lucy Chen, Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen
Series: The Chenford Files [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665073
Comments: 59
Kudos: 183





	1. Karaoke

**Author's Note:**

> I try to keep things as in line with the show and the characters as possible, but my imagination got away from me this time and I couldn't let it go.

[Chenford Mood Board](https://www.canva.com/design/DAD3CLmcnbc/8CFQa6lptlm65Kh861NOqw/view?utm_content=DAD3CLmcnbc&utm_campaign=designshare&utm_medium=link&utm_source=sharebutton)

**Lucy**

"Okay, guys, we're going to slow it way down now. Everybody welcome Lucy to the stage."

Applause explodes over the room, but nowhere so loud as at our table. All of my friends have turned to look at me, encouraging me to hurry on stage. Jackson's look is pure glee, and even Tim, who we dragged here kicking and screaming, has had enough beers tonight that he's grinning at me with pure amusement on his face. 

My heart stutters in my chest at the way he smiles at me, slowly clapping along with the rest. I immediately turn my attention back to Jackson, less I do something that both of us will regret when it's over.

"Jackson! What did you do?! I told you I wasn't singing tonight."

It's Saturday night, and the first weekend we don't have to work in a month. Somehow, we managed to get the whole crew to come with us to the college karaoke bar on Lexington, even Tim, and Harper. The drinks are flowing, and almost everyone has taken a turn on stage tonight—everyone but Tim and me, that is.

If possible, Jackson looks even prouder of himself than he did a minute ago. He stands and pulls me by the hands, and the crowd doubles their appreciation when they realize the next performer is a reluctant participant.

"You have to, Lucy. There's an obscure federal statute somewhere that states someone with a voice like yours _has_ to sing at karaoke."

"She can sing," Wes asks the group from the corner of my vision. Lopez shrugs, but John nods enthusiastically. "Oh yeah," he says, pride laced in his voice.

On a spur of the moment decision, I pivot and grab an unsuspecting Tim by the hands, trying to pull him up with me. Immediately his face shuts down, adopting the mask he wears in his day to day life.

"Not happening, Boot."

His expression alone says not only no, but _hell_ no.

That shit doesn't work on me anymore, though. 

"Come on, Tim! You don't have to sing. Just stand up there with me. I'm going to be afraid up on stage and won't be able to see you guys because of the lights," I say in my best 'A serial killer kidnapped me, and you literally brought me back to life, and now you have to protect me forever' voice.

He knows that's bullshit as well as I do, but after letting his eyes flicker over me for half a heartbeat, he laces the fingers of his hand with mine and allows me to pull him behind me to the stage. The catcalls follow our approach, and I distinctly hear Angela yell for Tim to take it off when we get up here.

I hope someone is recording this because Tim, in the middle of the spotlight, is absolutely hysterical. His arms are crossed over his chest, making his muscles bulge against his standard black Henley. He plastered his scariest expression across his face, and if he were wearing his gun on his hip, he'd be fingering the clasp right now. His evident discomfort knows no bounds.

Bubbling with amusement now, I scatter over to where the DJ stands and verify what song Jackson chose when signed me up. When the DJ tells me, I feel my equilibrium drop out through my stomach. I try to remember what I've told Jackson about my time in the barrel. The only person I've talked to about it is my therapist. And Tim. This is just a weird coincidence. It's too late to change it now, though. This is what I get, I think, for forcing Tim up on the stage with me. I just hope he forgives me when it's over.

The sedate piano and instrumental starts to ooze from the speaker system, and after a few catcalls from the crowd, a hush descends. It's not the type of song most people sing in a place like this. 

_Stars shining bright above you_

_Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"_

_Birds singing in the sycamore tree_

_Dream a little dream of me_

I can't face the audience, so I give all my attention to Tim. After all, that was the premise I gave him for bringing him on stage that—I couldn't do it without him. My eyes latch on to his, and the rest of the room fades into the background.

His posture softens the instant the first words leave my mouth. The lines leave his face, smoothed by the simple melody of a song older than us both.

_Say "Night-ie night" and kiss me_

_Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me_

_While I'm alone and blue as can be_

_Dream a little dream of me_

His arms lower, now dangling loosely at his sides. His hands twitch once, twice, but he holds them steady, a soldier till the end. 

During the second verse, I start to sway side to side, too much adrenaline coursing through my system to stand in one spot. Tim's eyes never leave mine, but his body responds in kind, his weight alternating between foot to foot. We're too in tune, in sync, for him to be this close and not respond to my cues—even if we are on a stage. 

_Stars fading, but I linger on, dear_

_Still craving your kiss_

My voice breaks, tiny, almost imperceptible, but Tim reaches for me and tugs me into his arms. Can he see it in my eyes? The fear, the pure unadulterated terror that still grips me when I'm alone in the dark, thinking about those hours in that container. 

_I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear_

_Just saying this_

I did linger. I lasted a lot longer than the dawn. It was Caleb that didn't live to see another day. 

_Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you_

_Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you_

_But in your dreams whatever they be_

_Dream a little dream of me_

We're swaying together now, rotating in place to the pulse of the music. Tim's pulled me close to him; his arms wrapped tight around me. The only space between us is filled with my hands, still holding onto the microphone. 

Does he know how many of my dreams end with him in them? Even the nightmares fade to Tim, pulling me to freedom, using his oxygen to bring me to life. I dream of him. Does he dream of me?

During the instrumental break, our dancing blossoms from high school prom to dancing with the stars. With skills I never knew he had, Tim waltzes me around the small space of the stage, expertly keeping me on my feet. Without any warning, Tim twirls me from him, and laughter and surprise explode from my chest as I twist back into his arms. His smile is beatific when he pulls me against him, and I feel a shot of pride, knowing it's a smile that only I get to see. 

_Stars fading, but I linger on, dear_

_Still craving your kiss_

_I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear_

_Just saying this_

When the chorus picks back up, my voice is strong and sure. This song isn't a memory of the worst moment of my life. It's an affirmation. With the help of the man whose arms are wrapped around me, I can face down the world. 

_Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you_

_Sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you_

Our steps slow as the song comes to an end, but his grip on me never lessons. If anything, it tightens on my hips, his fingers digging into the small of my back. His eyes have left my own, and he's studying my face, reading my lips. What he sees in it, I have no idea. Admiration, happiness, surety. Love, maybe?

_But in your dreams whatever they be_

_Dream a little dream of me_

As the last word leaves my tongue, Tim dips his head, and I'm coming unglued at the seams. Held together only by his hands. Until the room explodes into clapping and cheering, shattering the spell the song put us under. 

Heat rushes to my face, and I try to stutter out my apologies, but Tim just smiles and twirls me into a bow, as if the whole thing was an act. The noise in the room amps up another notch, then Tim is the one pulling me behind him, back to our table, as if nothing ever happened at all. 


	2. Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a perfect Saturday, and I'm not paying attention to any of it. Instead, I check my watch for the thirtieth time in approximately twenty minutes. I don't know why I'm obsessively looking at it. No, I know why. It's undignified to lie to myself. Lucy had therapy at noon, which means she should have gotten home about thirty minutes ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning on posting one a week, but I thought I'd post this now since it's ready. Also, this was supposed to be #1. Not really sure how or why I mixed them up lol.

Tim

ESPN is on in the background. The commentary for a college basketball game is floating through the air. The windows are open, coaxing a springtime California breeze in through the curtains. It's a perfect Saturday, and I'm not paying attention to any of it. Instead, I check my watch for the thirtieth time in approximately twenty minutes. I don't know why I'm obsessively looking at it. No, I know why. It's undignified to lie. Lucy had therapy at noon, which means she should have gotten home about thirty minutes ago. I simply don't understand why I care.

I sigh, disgusted with myself.

That's not true either. Of course, I know. I'm worried about her. I'm always worried about her these days. When she's not by my side, I'm concerned about where she is and who she's with. It's not that out of character for me to be keeping tabs on my rookie. We're friends, of a sort. After what happened with Caleb, I have every right to be concerned about her whereabouts. Frankly, she's lucky I'm not tracking her phone.

When Kojo wanders into the room and drops his toy rope at my feet, I make a snap decision. Picking up my phone, I dial Lucy's number.

"Boot," I say when she picks up the line. I hear her laugh into the receiver. 

"Well, hello to you too, Officer Bradford," she replies. Her voice is playful when she says my name, but it's wrapped in a layer of weariness too. I don't make it a habit of calling my Boot on our time off. But, I guess that's not true either anymore. Since Caleb, I don't feel comfortable if I don't talk to her at least once a day. More than that, since we're going for honesty today.

"What are you doing," I ask, trying to keep my voice firm.

"Oh, just relaxing at home," she replies. Her words are easy, but her tone still holds something that rubs me the wrong way.

"So, in other words, you're at home brooding." 

That makes her laugh. 

"I think you've got things reversed, Tim. I'm not the one that broods. Those smoldering looks into the distance? That would be you." 

Smoldering huh? I can't help chuckling into the line.

"Your dog is driving me nuts, and I think it's time you learn to control him. Meet me at Cortez Park in forty-five minutes. Wear your exercise clothes."

That's not what she was expecting me to say. Her surprise is palpable without me ever having to see her face. Her pleasure too.

"Um. Yeah. Sure, that sounds great." Her enthusiasm for the idea makes me smile. "I can't wait to see him. I've missed my little Kojo. Thanks, Tim, I'll see you soon."

I hesitate for a moment, debating if this is the best idea. But, I'm able to rationalize it as a training moment. Lucy needs to exercise; it's good for her health. Spending time with her stupid mutt will make her feel better, and learning how to establish control over an unknown element like a dog will only enhance her skills as a police officer.

"Yeah. See you in a few."

I strip out of my jeans and shirt, replacing them with my work out gear. I lace up my sneakers then am out the door.

\---

She beat me here, and I have no idea how. I didn't precisely dawdle, and I live closer to the park than she does. Yet still, there she is, stretching against a picnic table. Seeing her here, so casually relaxed, makes something tighten deep in my gut.

I've seen her casual before, of course. I've seen her sweaty and gritty, pounding away on a body bag. We've gone to the bar wearing jeans as I stared while she tossed back beers with her friends. Watching her like this is altogether different. Her hair is down loose around her shoulders. The waves and curls catch the sunlight and accentuate her golden highlights. Instead of the baggy clothes she favors in the PD gym, she's in form-fitting running gear. The top hugs every curve of her body, and I freeze and clock half a dozen men slowing their activities to get a better look at her. 

She finally spots us when Kojo starts tugging at his leash. I switched out his collar for a chest harness last weekend and bend to let it loose. Watching as he bounds happily to where Lucy has stopped and squatted for him, I feel the smile tugging at my lips, and quickly force it from my face.

"Boot," I holler at her. She barely looks up before she's wrapped up in Kojo again.

When I make it the few yards to them, I stop with my hands on my hips and set my tone of voice to strike fear into the hearts of my subordinates. 

"Boot. As a member of the LAPD, you should know it's illegal to break land speed records to get here."

Lucy smiles at me good-naturedly and continues to love up on Kojo without answering me. Lucky dog.

"Have you been a good boy for Uncle Timmy? How's my baby doing today?"

I can't help it.

"I'm good, thanks." She laughs into Kojo's fur. "The dog is pretty good too."

She bestows a smile on me filled with shyness and wonder, and it makes my heart skip a beat.

"I followed the traffic laws to the letter Sargent Bradford. Not all of us drive like grandpa's."

I roll my eyes at her barb and immediately start to contemplate ways I can show her I'm no grandpa but shut that shit down hard. She's my trainee. Nothing else can happen. 

I wander close enough to the canoodling duo and snap Kojo's leash to his harness, giving him a small tug. The dog shoots me a look like what the hell man, but obediently sits at my feet.

When she stands, I have an unexpected urge to hug her. But we're not that kind of friends. Heck, I'm not that kind of friend with anybody.

"So," she asks, looking to me to take the lead. This was my idea, after all.

"Run, or train first?"

"Run. Maybe Kojo will listen to me better if he's tired."

"So that's what you're going to do when you're out in the field, Boot? Ask the dog to run around for a while until he's exhausted enough to listen to you?"

She gives me her bashful smile, the one that says she knows I'm right but thinks I'm being ridiculous anyway."

"No, Tim. But," she hesitates before she continues, "I could stand to blow off some energy myself before I need to pay attention to anything."

I want to reach out to her. To take her in my arms and tell her it's all right to still be processing what she went through. It's not what she wants to hear, though. Instead, I show her I care in the only way I have available to me.

"Okay, Boot. Drop and give me twenty burpees." When she hesitates, I add, "Now," in the harshest voice I can manage.

Exasperation crosses her features, but there's a substantial amount of relief in there too.

As she does as she's told, I stretch my legs using the picnic table as an anchor.

The first lap around the park, we take hard. Not entirely chasing down a perp fast, but quick enough that by the time we back it to the front, all three of us need a drink from the water I have in my backpack I have pulled tight against my back.

When we start again, we take a more leisurely pace around the track.

She asks me about training Kojo, and we talk about different commands and hand signals to go with them. 

When the conversation inevitably turns to work, she mentions Armstrong and the case he had last week.

"Did you mention that. To your therapist, I mean?" 

I don't know what made me ask her, except that it's important to me that she's taking care of herself, inside and out.

"What would I mention," she asks, and there's a forced calmness to her response that sets off my alarm bells.

"Well, that Armstrong being back, and mentioning the Dryer case, might be a trigger for you."

Lucy glances at me, then gives a tug on Kojo's leash around her wrist, taking her speed up a notch, trying to outrun the world.

"I just want to put it behind me. Forget it ever happened." Her words have a strain to them that I can only assume is from the subject matter, since we're not running hard enough to put that sort of hitch in her voice. 

I slow my step and reach out for Lucy, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her to a stop. She looks at me with determination on her face. Her cheeks flush from a combination of sun and exercise. Her hair, while pulled back into a ponytail to start our run, loosened from our exertion, and stray strands are sticking to her face. I use my free hand and push them behind her ear, letting my fingers linger on her cheek. 

Something in my brain starts screaming that this is inappropriate, but like Lucy, I push it to the back of my mind and try to ignore it.

The ring I carried around in my pocket for weeks is the only jewelry adorning her body, and I feel it against my hand when I pull her to me. Kojo is grateful for the break and immediately sits panting at our feet. 

"Lucy," I say, my voice unrecognizable to my ears. "I know you do, but you can't. That's a mistake, and you know this as well as I do. It's a wound, just like that tattoo was. If you push it to the back of your mind and leave it to fester, it will eat you alive."

I realize while I'm talking that our hands are still linked where I pulled her to me. My fingers, all on their own accord, are rubbing over and over the ring on her finger—a touchstone to remind us both that she is here and alive and as vibrant as ever. 

"What are you, my therapist," she asks, but there's no heat in her words. There's no malice in her voice. It's soft and tender and pulls me to her like a siren's song. Unbidden, I take a step closer, breathing in her scent. 

"No." My voice is deeper than it should be. It's killing something inside of me to be this close to her and not close the distance. 

"Then what are you, Tim?"

She pauses before she speaks my name, and it twists deep in my chest when she says it. 

What am I? Her teacher. Her friend. Her protector. I am nothing, and she is everything. 

Rules Tim, rules are there for a reason. How has this situation gotten so far away from me?

She's watching me. Waiting for my answer. I can see her heartbeat, kicking wild from the pulse point in her throat. My eyes roam over her face; to her lips, her eyes and back to her lips again. I step forward, closing the space between us. There should never be anything separating us. Her breath hitches, gasping lightly from the contact of my hand caressing her face.

Then her fucking dog jumps, almost knocking her to the ground. 

The tension between us shatters like a nightstick to a window. Laughter and surprise bubble out of Lucy as she tries to shove the dog off of her chest. God, she looks beautiful.

"Sit," I command, and even though my voice is firm, I can't wipe off my smile. Immediately Kojo obeys, tail wagging happily behind him. 

Lucy looks from between me and the dog, exasperation clear on her face. I step closer to her again and put my hand out for the leash, which she happily provides.

"I'm not your therapist, Boot. But I am your friend. No matter what, we're that."

Lucy smiles and nods, ducking her head in a shy little agreement.

"Come on, old man," she says and turns to face the trail again. Kojo immediately tries to follow after Lucy, and I have no choice but to do the same. 

After all, it's a TO's job to stand by their Boot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, it should be a once a week update.


	3. Nineties Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody in the clubs getting tipsy

** Lucy **

The beat is pulsing through her bloodstream, sending shots of adrenaline out of her system with every downstroke of the bass line. Nineties night at East Side is always fun, but even more so when she has her boys with her.

But they’ve been here for hours now, and she’s found herself alone on the dance floor.

Jackson and Sterling are grinding alone in a corner, off to the side where Sterling has less of a chance to be recognized. Grace and Noland gave up dancing an hour ago, and are now sitting at the table, drinking and enjoying the lightness of the environment.

Wes and Angela are still a few feet from her, but she stopped borrowing Wes to dance a couple of songs ago. They’ve reached the part in the evening where the couples are pairing off. Letting the music set the tone for what’s to come after. 

That’s okay. Lucy loves to dance. She can’t remember the last time she’s gotten to feel this free. Music does something to her that nothing else in the world can. She feels it in her bones, from classical piano to bass busting hip hop in a club downtown. She may be too sore to walk any farther than the kitchen tomorrow, but she’s not leaving this floor until the bouncer kicks her out. 

Suddenly Savage’s Swing starts to blast over the speaker system, and she throws her head back and smiles. Letting her second or is it third wind rush over her body. This was her  _ jam _ when she was a teenager! 

When she feels the hands tighten over her hips, she doesn’t think anything of it. Simply lets the man pull her closer and guide her how he wants her. It’s common practice for men and women to flit from person to person in the club. There’s nothing nefarious to it. No one is trying to pick her up. Most of the time. It’s only another body, looking for someone to help ground them to the music.

She lets her arms rise in the air as if gravity no longer applies to them. Her hips have an exaggerated sway, added by both the lyrics and the security of knowing whoever is behind her won’t let her fall.

His hands are solid, his fingers long and strong, almost spanning the entire length of her waist. Her eyes close as she lets the rhythm take her, and she laughs out loud when she hears Angela’s ‘Go, Lucy,’ through the din of the music. 

Her stranger pulls her close to him so that his broad expanse of chest is plastered against her back. He rolls against her, causing her body to react in kind. Chills break out on her skin that has nothing to do with the air conditioning mixing with the heat from a hundred bodies. He’s rock hard against her, in every sense of the word. She wants to turn, to see the chiseled form behind her, but knows better than to tempt fate. 

Listening to the urgings of the song, she drops to a squat, rotating her pelvis as she does so. The hands supporting her loosen their grip, instead sliding up her arms, offering her support when she grinds her way back up.

She opens her eyes as she dips down his body, so that she has a better sense of her environment, and catches a glimpse of the shoes the man is wearing. Brown boots, well worn but well cared for. Jeans are covering the tops. Adrenaline surges again, hard and fast this time, but she uses her training and pushes it down. It’s the alcohol finally affecting her system. This is  _ not _ his type of scene. 

The final beats of the song play out, and she slows her movements, preparing for the loss of body heat behind her, but when the first lash of the next song comes on, Don’t Cha by the PussyCat Dolls, he tightens his hold, pushing one of his legs between her own. 

All sense of decorum leaves them as she starts to grind back against him. Her eyes close again. She can’t help it. Only it’s not to let the music run through her better. It’s to help her pretend. If she can’t see the stranger, she can still pretend it’s  _ him _ , come to save her from another night of going home alone.

Wrapping one arm completely around her waist, he brushes the other up her bare arm, lacing it behind her and over his head. His hair is short, and cropped, but soft in her hand. She runs her fingers over his neck, pulling his head down to her. He responds immediately and latches his lips onto the point under her ear, drawing a ragged breath from her lungs. 

He tightens his hold on her, almost to the point of pain, then pushes and spins her, pulling her back to face him chest to chest. 

His blue eyes sparkle in the dim light of the club, shining brighter than the California sun. She should have known it was him, the minute he placed his hands on her hips. Only he would wear a henley in the middle of July, even if it is night time. 

Moving her hands around his neck, he lets his fingers trail down her arms, her torso, over her hips, to her ass. There’s barely space to breathe between them. Her chest is heaving with the tension of being here, like this, with  _ him _ . Literally, the man of her dreams. She can feel him hard and wanting against her core. Smell the desire wafting from him in waves. 

He lets his hand drift again, this time enclosing around her throat. She’s never been one for feeling caged in, but the sensation of her neck encased in his hand, the calluses from his fingers pressing against her flesh, sends another wave of goosebumps breaking out over her body. He runs his thumb across her lip, and her knees go weak. 

Everything fades into the distance. The crowd, the music. Even life itself. All there is, is him and her and the inevitability that he’s finally,  _ finally _ going to lay his mouth on her. 

He dips his head, the barest brush of his breath against her skin.

_**BANG BANG BANG** _

“Turn your damn alarm off, Luce! It’s been blaring for ten minutes already.”

I gulp air into my lungs as if I’ve been buried again, left without oxygen, and no way to live. My thoughts and emotions are scattering in a hundred different directions; I untangle from the mess of damp sheets I’ve somehow twisted myself up in and lunge for the clock radio on my bed. 

Blessedly, the music stops. Classic 98.2 a not so distant memory as I drop bonelessly back into the bed. 

My heart is pounding harder than a racehorse, and I’m embarrassed to realize the moisture coating my body isn’t merely from sweat. Desire has pooled in my belly and is dripping down my legs. What in the hell was that? 

My nipples are hard, my panties are soaked, and I swear I can still feel his fingers lingering on my body. 

I know what that was. That was the result of not getting laid for far too long. Deciding to let Wes and Angela set me up with Wes’s friend this weekend, after all, I climb out of bed and head for the shower. And maybe spend some time with the adjustable, removable shower head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know dream sequences are cliche, but sue me lol. I wanted to read about them dancing. Follow me on Tumblr @motherof4dragons


	4. Angela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Angela sees when she watches the interactions between the TO and his Boot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's so short. It's hard to stay cannon when the show is still new lol. They don't do enough outside of work yet :)

Angela

"Oh, God," she huffs, turning her back to the scene in disgust. "Do you think they even realize it's happening?"

Wesley turns towards his fiancee, pulling away from the conversation he's having with a local prosecutor.

"What," he asks, trying to scope out why she's grumbling. 

"That," she exclaims, slightly more hostile than necessity called for, and throws her hand out in the direction of the other side of the bar. 

"Look at them. He's panting at her heels like a dog in heat, scaring off anyone that even looks in her direction. Watch, here comes another one."

Sure enough, a local beat cop saddles up between Jackson and Lucy at the bar, trying to get Lucy's attention. The minute he makes his move, however, Tim leans down from her other side and whispers something in her ear, never taking his eyes off the other man vying for her attention.

Lucy throws her head back and laughs, indicating clearly she's already got a drink or two under her belt. She puts her hand on his chest, and Tim leans in, enjoying her embrace. He reaches his hand up as if to cup her face, before he remembers who he is and where he's at, quickly stepping back and returning to his beer.

A second ago, his smile lit the room. Now he's back to brooding, scoping the space for his next competition. 

"Wow," breathes Wes, thoroughly mesmerized by the interaction playing out in front of him. It didn't dawn on him until just now that Tim usually sits with them, and tonight he's with the rookies. 

"When did it get that bad?"

"I don't know. I even noticed it at work. He sits in roll call staring at the back of her head. If he's not careful, Grey is going to call him out for it. He's even dating Rachel still, though how he has the time I'll never know. As far as I can tell, he's either at work or with Lucy."

"Hmmm," Wes says, bringing his scotch to his lips. "Why doesn't he just ask her out then?"

"Against the rules. Even if it weren't, it's against his code. He'll die on this hill if he thinks it's the right thing to do. I tried to talk to him about it, but he told me I was being ridiculous, chest puffed up like some overbearing know it all, and stormed off in the other direction. He was conveniently gone before I got back from shift that night."

They watch the scene play out in silence for a few minutes longer. Lucy is glowing, from a combination of spirits, Tim's attention, and the cheerfulness of her natural personality. Tim sits and broods, scanning the crowd for 'danger' until Lucy turns her attention back to him, at which time he smiles as if it hurts, but he simply can't stop. 

"Wow," Wes mumbles again, and Angela can't help but agree. 

They decide to join Tim and his Boot, ostensibly, to join the fun. In reality, though, they've made it a drinking game. Every time Tim and Lucy look like they're about to kiss, someone has to take a shot.

They leave the car at the bar that night and take a Lyft home instead. Five shots in, they are both too smashed to drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My husband and I met our freshman year of high school. Due to an unplanned hospitalization and a super bitchy teacher, I had to retake the first semester of my freshman math class. My husband was the TA for that class. There was a very small group of us, and I was bored out of my mind, because I knew the work, and had simply missed the final. Anyway, not the point lol.
> 
> One day I'm in class, doing nothing, and the teacher, very loudly and flamboyant (think Madea) goes, "Thomas! You better stop staring at the back of her head boy! She's going to leave class with holes bore in from your eyeballs." I don't think he's ever forgiven her for that. He started walking me home that week. The rest, as they say, is history. 
> 
> I need Grey to call Tim out for staring at Lucy during roll call. 
> 
> As always, thank you for taking the time to read. Kudos and comments feed my soul. If you like what you read, you can follow me at
> 
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	5. The Spar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim follows Lucy after a bad day at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for my last chapter being so short, I am posting the next as well. 
> 
> This may not be strictly canon. I have a horrible memory and don't remember much from the first season. If they have already sparred together, besides the punching bag at the percent gym, let's all pretend they haven't, shall we?

[](https://500px.com/photo/1013452981/Fives-And-One-by-Amanda-Campbell)  


**Tim**

Class is over, and Jamal is yammering in my ear about the second location he's hoping to open on the other side of the District.

I nod where appropriate and give some random pieces of advice, but my attention is all on the girl.

She's in the corner with the rest of the class, putting her equipment back into a small duffel bag. She didn't wear boxing gloves, instead wrapping her hands in exercise tape, and the move made my good impression of her jump another notch. I hate practicing with unnecessary protective gear. How are gloves going to help you when you get into a real situation on the street? Ask your attacker to kindly wait a moment while you get your gear on? I don't think so. Though, I've seen her at the body bag before. I already knew all this.

As if she can sense me staring at her, she glances over her shoulder at me and scowls. A chuckle escapes me unbidden, and Jamal changes his direction to see whats caught my eye.

Her hair is up in a braid with the tail tucked inside. It's a style that I've seen often enough. I've never given women's hairstyles a second thought, or the first thought for that matter. On Lucy, however—the way it pulls her hair off her neck lends her a sense of elegance, even in exercise clothes. Her sports top has thin straps that criss-cross down her shoulders and back. The amount of skin showing is by no way indecent, but that doesn't stop me from both admiring the view and itching to throw a jacket on her.

"Now I know why you honored me with your presence tonight. Do you know Luce?"

"Lucy, and yes. She's my Boot."

"Well, I can't deny you've got good taste. Every man in here, myself included, has tried to pick that little lady up. She's like Teflon, we all just bounce right off of her. Maybe you'll have better luck. That ass is fine though. I sure wouldn't mind trying me a piece."

Jamal's words set my teeth on edge, and I uncross my arms from my chest and turn to face him directly.

Immediately his hands go up in front of his face, whether to try to warn me off or protect himself I can't tell.

"Whoa man, easy dog. I was just trying to give you a heads up. I didn't mean nothing personal by it."

"I recommend you start looking at her like you'd look at your baby sister. Or, better yet, like you'd look at my baby sister."

Jamal starts stepping away from me, hands still raised in that annoyingly placating manner.

"I got ya, I got ya. Good Luck."

With a fake salute that makes me want to break his fingers, he turns and swaggers away. Lucy's just my Boot—nothing more, nothing less. Maybe if I tell myself that often enough, I'll believe it. Too late to back out now, though, because Lucy, disguised as a tornado, is storming her away over to me.

"Did you follow me here?"

Her tone is accusatory, her eyebrows raised. She crosses her arms in front of her chest, and I'm sure any reasonable man would be put off from the fuck you vibe she's throwing my way. Instead, I admire the way her anger pushes her breasts out, just a tad further.

"Would it bother you if I had?"

Her posture changes slightly, and her eyes flare in anger. It's a dangerous turn on. Still, I wasn't in the special forces for so long without being able to sense when my life was in danger. For my well being, I had better stop toying with the storm.

"Yes, I followed you. Not how you're assuming I did, though. I went to your apartment to talk to you, and Jackson was there. He told me you'd be here. I happen to know the owner, so I thought I'd drop by and say hi."

"Jackson told you where I'd be?"

"He did. I'd talk to him about that if I were you. Otherwise, this could become a habit."

"Oh, don't you worry about that. We'll have words, I promise." Her eyes glaze as I witness her imagining a hundred different ways to maim her friend. I almost feel sorry for him. I'm a trained killer, and even I wouldn't want to be on the other side of that face.

Her face clears, and she gives herself a gentle shake as if cleansing herself from whatever visions were plaguing her.

"So, stalker. What did you want from me?"

Oh, poor word choice. I can think of a dozen different things I want from her right now. She worked hard tonight in class, and sweat is still cooling against her body. She's lost the hostility in her posture and is smirking at me. I have some innate sense that she's reading my mind as quickly as the thoughts appear there. This isn't going how I wanted it to go. How the fuck has this girl gotten under my skin? I need to get laid. It's been too long. And not from the sassy, gorgeous creature in front of me.

"Nothing, I guess. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It was a rough shift today."

We had a kidnapping. Lucy acted like it wasn't a big deal, but I could see the fire in her eyes. The tension was singing through her body.

She rolls her eyes at me and grins a little wider.

"You've never heard of a phone, huh? It's this pretty nifty invention that allows people to communicate without having to leave the comfort of your couch."

"I have a couch. I have a nice couch. Big. Comfortable. You'd like it." Jesus Christ, Tim. You're a hardened soldier for god's sake, and you're talking to this girl about your couch. I'm ridiculous. This can never, ever get back to Angela.

"It would have to be big for it to be comfortable for you. You're practically a giant."

"Part of me is, that's for sure."

Her face crimsons so fast at my words it's as if someone painted it on, and I can tell she's trying desperately not to take a peek down my body. I'm tempted to flex my hips out once or twice, but remember that I'm not interested in this woman. Or, in actuality, I'm incredibly interested in this woman, which is why I should be keeping my distance—not chasing her all over town.

"Jamal is a friend of mine; he lets me use his place to train sometimes. It's really the only reason I followed after Jackson told me where you were. Promise. You looked good in class today by the way, nice form. But kicking a punching bag in a class is a lot different when applying those techniques to a real person. We can go over a few moves if you want."

"A few moves?"

Her tone is full of skepticism, and I guess I can't blame her since I was talking about my dick thirty seconds ago.

"Yes, sparring. I can help with your technique."

Something I can't read flashes in her eyes, and she drops her workout bag to the floor.

"Yes! Oh please yes. That sounds awesome."

Suddenly every warning bell I have is blazing in my head at top speeds and sounds. She agreed to that too quickly, too enthusiastically. The smart thing for me to do would be to turn tail and run, then get my ass back out on the streets. That's where I belong, chasing criminals—not chasing tail. It's too late to back out now, however.

Lucy gives her bag a swift kick and watches as it slides away from us to the other side of the practice mat, then removes her hoodie and tosses it in the direction of her bag.

"I've taken a few self-defense classes before, of course. I took all the courses at the academy. But you are my mentor, after all. Maybe you can help it click." The word click is over-enunciated and hard, and I feel the K sound reverberate down to my dick.

"Okay, then. Show me what you've got, and we'll go from there."

"How do you want to set it up?"

This is what I hate about practice self-defense. It's so staged and preplanned. A cop being attacked isn't going to be manhandled in the same gentle way some pretend fitness guy is showing her on the matt. It's going to be fast and painful, and she needs to have her wits about her to get herself out of that situation.

"I don't believe in prearranged situations. I'll lunge, you parry, and we'll see what we need to work on afterward."

With that, I grab her. She jerks in surprise, obviously not expecting my attack. I get one hand on the front of her top, painfully aware that with the type of material it is, my fingers are millimeters away from her breasts, and one hand in the middle of her back when suddenly she slips her foot in between mine. With a hand on each of my own, she pivots in my grip, throwing her ass into my pelvis, then flips me over her shoulder and onto the mat.

"Whumpf!"

In a heartbeat, the oxygen is shoved from my lungs as she straddles me across my chest. She lets her weight drop squarely into the middle of my breastbone. Before I have time to register what the fuck just happened, she's flung herself to the side, taking my arm with her, and curves her legs across my chest, straightening my arm between her knees and across her abdomen until I feel the muscles in my shoulder and elbow start to give.

Stunned more from the unexpectedness of the situation rather than physical exertion of my person, we lay like that for a moment as she gives my arm a tug every few heartbeats, just to remind me who's currently in charge.

"In all our time together, did I forget to mention that besides the measly self-defense classes I took for the job, my parents have had me in martial arts since I was five? I'm a black belt in three different practices. Maybe I could show you some moves, huh, big boy?"

Holy fuck.

In the universal signal for let me the fuck up, I tap her foot three times and take my first clean breath of air since I thought of this fucked up idea in the first place. As she scrambles to the other side of the mat, I push myself to a sitting position, arms on my knees, watching as she pops to her feet like a jack-o-lantern, bobbing and weaving on the tips of her toes.

"Come on, big man! Is that all you got?"

My smile is breaking my face before I have a chance to rein it in. Hell yeah, baby. If she wants to play, we can play.

Leaning back with my hands behind my head, I kick up from the ground, landing in a squat then raising to my feet.

"Okay, little girl. Bring it on."

She gives me a bow as a sign of respect. Obviously, she's had some experience in sparring, and away we go.

While I have experience in a little bit of everything, most of my training has been to take the enemy down as quickly and efficiently as possible. That won't work here. I want to show her who's boss, but I don't want to break her back while I'm doing it.

While I'm still debating about how to best take her down, she makes the first attack, stepping forward and landing a kick across my middle. I decide to let her get a few hits in; that way, I can better assess what sort of skills she's working with and lull her into a false sense of security. I've never been on the receiving end of her fists before. I let her grab my arm and pull me close, giving her the impression that she'll be able to pull me down again, then slip under her arm and twist out of her grip, smacking her on the ass in the process.

A full-throated laugh erupts from her lips, and I freeze at the moment to better appreciate the glow it brings to her face. Then I know I've fucked up. Again. Taking advantage of my lapse in attention, she leaps enough to get her arms around my neck then yanks me down with her, dragging me across the matt with her arm around my throat.

Straining to hear over the blood rushing in my ears, I listen to giggles escaping between her heaves for oxygen. Giggles! Enough of this shit.

I wrap my left arm around her back and my right between her legs until they touch in the middle. As swiftly as I can, I rise with her in my arms then slam us to the ground, making sure to take as much of the impact upon myself as I can.

"Who's the big man now, baby?"

I rise to my hands and knees on top of her, intending to mouth off some more when she kicks out with her leg, knocking me off balance. Whipping herself around with years of lightening precision, she climbs my back like a monkey, shoving her elbows into my shoulder blades and riding me with a knee in the small of my back as I crash to the floor.

I have strength and size on my side, but she has the skills to back up her trash talk. I'll bet money that Judo is one of those practices she's got her black belt in. Her knees are locked tight against my ribcage, and her elbows are digging into my back. She's in just the right position to limit my range of motion. After a second or two of trying to bring my palms underneath me, I use my hands and knees together to push myself off the floor.

Her grip on me is supernatural, and we roll several times across the room, each of us grappling for position until we come to a stop with me on top. Using the momentum of our rolling, she switches angles on me, leaning up with her hands at the base of my neck before pulling us back and over again, rolling me over her head. This time she follows so that she again lands in the position of power. She's pinned me with my head between her knees, her ankles pressed to my biceps, holding my arms to the ground. She stops her momentum with both hands placed firmly on the ground in front of her and shoots me a cheeky grin as she rises to a sitting position on my chest.

"Now I could get used to this. You, between my legs, flat on your back underneath me. How's it look from the spot down there?"

Without bothering with a response, I lift my feet to wrap around her body, crossing them at the ankles and pressing into her chest. She lets out a satisfying, "oooft," as she fights the reversal of our positions. This is where strength comes into play. She may be fast, but she just can't out muscle me.

I thought she'd surrender when I gained the upper hand. Instead, she tightens her thighs around my throat and crosses her feet at the ankle in a classic choke maneuver. We're twisted up like pretzels, legs, and arms wrapped and trapped against each other, and faces squished between knees and feet. With no one willing to admit defeat, she tightens her muscles again, and we tip to the side like humpty dumpty, both still thrusting and wiggling in our grips. When she thrusts again trying to loosen my grip, I have to close my eyes and pretend that it's Nolan's crotch pressed up against my chin and not the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen.

Unwilling to surrender, but unable to take the torture of her body so close to my face, I cheat and tickle the inside of her thigh. The blood rushes to my brain as her knees immediately slacken their grip, and I open my limbs as well to allow her to scramble free.

"Don't tickle, don't tickle, I'll pee," she says, then skitters like a dog on tile trying to get her footing before I get to mine. Smaller and faster as she is, she beats me to position and climbs up my back again as I'm rising to my feet, wrapping her arms around my neck in a move meant to render your attacker unconscious. I have height on my side, and before she can tighten her hold enough to make me tap out, I rise to my full height, grasping her arm in both of my hands and flip her over my shoulder to land with a smack against the mat.

I won't deny it's not a heady feeling watching her go ass over end as she hits the ground. Her arms and legs skew in different directions, and her chest is heaving as she gulps oxygen into her lungs.

I lick my lips as I look down on her hot and sweaty below me and have my breath back enough to say, "For future reference, I prefer being on top. No offense, but it's a man thing, you know."

Still heaving, she shoots me a dirty look, then crooks her finger in my direction, leaving her hand up to grasp. I reach down to help her back to her feet and am blindsided by a sweep of her legs. With a crash and a groan, I lay prone next to her on the mat, chest heaving just as fast as hers is.

"You," heave, "don't know what you're missing." Heave heave heave, "My thigh muscles are amazing."

Fuuuuuck. The image of my face pinned between her legs is going to haunt me until the day I die. On my tombstone, it'll read 'Here lies Tim, the man who dreamt about Lucy's thighs until the end of time.' She's absolutely ruined me for the rest of my miserable life. There's nothing I can do about it now other than go with it.

I roll over until I'm hovering over her, and she spreads her legs for me. My weight settles against her skin, and I have to fight the urge to ground against her. She hasn't moved, except to give me the space to crowd her into the ground.

"I am going to have you, Lucy. We can't, though. Not yet, not now."

"Okay," she says quietly, and there's a finality to her voice.

"Want to go get some coffee?" I ask, still staring into her eyes, heartbeat finally returning to normal.

"Sounds great. I could use a drink after this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading with me today! If you like what you read, follow me at
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**Author's Note:**

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End file.
